Chapter 3 #2
Gunfire erupts from every direction. Muzzle flashes strobe the darkness. The forest becomes a kill box, and somewhere in the chaos I remember Kane's words: ‘The first one is always the hardest.’
He was wrong.
The second one is worse. Because now I know exactly what I'm doing when I pull the trigger. There's no accident, no instinct, no panicked reaction.
Just the cold calculation of survival.
I squeeze the trigger again, and somewhere below me, another person stops being a threat and becomes a body.
Kane appears beside me, his presence steady in the chaos. "Good shooting, Doc. Stay low."
He fires past my shoulder, three controlled bursts. Something heavy hits the ground in the trees below.
"North ridge neutralized," Mercer reports through the static. "Three confirmed."
"South ridge suppressed," Rourke adds. "They're pulling back."
But they're not pulling back from the center. If anything, more figures are pushing forward through the trees, using cover professionally, relentless in their advance.
"Kane!" I say. "They're massing for an assault!"
"I see them." His voice is grim. "Stryker, frag out!"
Something small and deadly arcs through the air into the tree line below. The explosion is concussive, pressure wave slamming into my chest even behind our rocky cover.
The screaming that follows is worse than any sound I've heard, including Jack's worst rages. These are men dying in pain and terror, and I helped make it happen.
Then silence.
The kind of silence that rings in your ears.
"Cease fire," Kane orders. "Tommy, give me eyes."
Static. Then: "Thermal shows withdrawal. All approaches. They're retreating to regroup. You're clear to return to base."
We won. Somehow, impossibly, we held them off half a mile from Echo Base—the base I’d only laid eyes on hours ago. They never got close. Never even suspected the base exists.
Kane helps me to my feet. "Let's move. Storm's covering our tracks, but I want us back inside within twenty minutes."
The trip back feels surreal. We navigate through the blizzard, our path invisible to anyone who might be watching. By the time we reach the hidden entrance, I'm shaking—partly from cold, partly from adrenaline crash.
Inside the warm bunker, I'm shaking harder, the adrenaline crash hitting like a freight train. The rifle slips from my numb fingers. Kane catches it before it hits the ground, setting it aside with gentle efficiency.
"First firefight?" he asks quietly.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
"You did good." He steadies me with a hand on my arm, his presence solid and reassuring. "Better than good. You might have just saved all our lives."
I look up at him, this scarred warrior who appeared in a blizzard to save me from killers I didn't know existed. His eyes are closer than they should be, holding mine with an intensity that has nothing to do with combat.
"They'll come back," I manage to say.
"Yeah." His thumb traces a small circle on my shoulder, probably unconscious. "They will. Because Protocol Seven doesn’t retreat,” Kane added grimly. “It escalates. Next wave will be heavier.”
"What do we do?"
Kane's expression hardens into something that might be resolve or resignation. "We finish what they started. The Committee wants a war? We give them one they'll never forget."
Standing there in the aftermath of violence, surrounded by men who've made darkness their profession, I realize something terrifying.
I believe him.
More than that—I want to help him win.
Footsteps approach from deeper in the bunker—light, uncertain. A woman I haven’t seen before emerges from the shadows, late twenties maybe, with dark hair pulled back and the kind of eyes people earn through pain. She's limping, one hand pressed against her side.
"Sarah," Kane says, his voice gentling. "You should be resting."
"I heard the explosions." Her eyes find mine, sizing me up with an analyst's precision. "You're the veterinarian. The one they're hunting."
I glance at Kane. Clearly, news travels fast down here.
"Guilty." I force steadiness into my voice. "Though I'm starting to think saving that dog was the worst decision of my life."
"Or the best one." Sarah moves closer, each step clearly painful. "Odin's evidence. He can lead us to whatever the Committee's hiding. Whatever's worth killing us all to protect."
The implications settle over me like snow—cold, inevitable, suffocating. This isn't just about me anymore. It's about what Odin knows.
"They'll keep coming," I say, looking between Kane and Sarah. "Won't they?"
Sarah's smile is bitter as winter. "Until we're all dead or they are. There's no middle ground with the Committee. They don't negotiate. They don't compromise. They erase problems."
"Then we erase them first." The words surprise me as much as anyone. But standing here, I realize I'm not the woman who fled Chicago six years ago. That woman ran from monsters. This woman is tired of running.
Kane studies me with those damaged, knowing eyes. "You understand what you're saying? There's no walking away from this. No going back to your veterinary practice and pretending none of this happened."
"I've been running for six years," I tell him quietly. "From Jack. From the life I thought I wanted. From everything. I'm done running. Whatever comes next, I face it standing still."
His expression changes—respect maybe, or recognition. Understanding between people who've both learned that sometimes the only way out is through.
"Welcome to Echo Ridge," he says again, but this time it sounds less like a warning and more like a promise—it’s the first time I’ve felt the word, ‘welcome’ directed at me instead of the dog.
The Committee is out there somewhere, regrouping in the storm. But they're no closer to finding this place than they were before. We're safe here, hidden deep in the mountain where no one will ever find us.
Inside this fortress, surrounded by broken men and dangerous secrets, I finally feel something I haven't felt in six years.
Safe.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it feels like coming home to a place I never knew existed.
Kane's hand is still on my shoulder, warm through the body armor. Our eyes hold for a beat too long, and I see the question in his. See the want carefully controlled beneath command. See the man behind the scars wondering if I see him too.
I see him. The man beneath the scars and the command mask. The warrior who came for me in a blizzard when he didn't have to.
His hand is still warm on my shoulder. I should step back. Put distance between us and this thing building in the space neither of us is acknowledging.
I don't move.
Whatever happens next, I'm done running.